


Obedience

by tiger_in_the_flightdeck



Series: Tiger's Tumblr Ficlets [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Prompt Fill, Punishment, The Hounds of Baskerville, dogging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 16:32:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/640890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_in_the_flightdeck/pseuds/tiger_in_the_flightdeck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes was built to suck cock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obedience

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Obedience](https://archiveofourown.org/works/977489) by [ogawaryoko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ogawaryoko/pseuds/ogawaryoko)



> Originally posted as a prompt fill over on tiger-in-the-flightdeck.tumblr.com
> 
> Unedited and written from my phone, so if you see any glaring errors, please let me know so I can fix them

“Stop the car. Greg, go for a walk. Go look at cows or something.” John Watson can be terrifying, when he wants to be.

Like when he is sitting in the passenger seat of a hired jeep, listening to Sherlock and Greg bicker over music stations, trying to fight off a migraine that was the direct result of his shoulders being tense. And, oh yeah, there was the whole thing with Sherlock drugging him.

Both of the other men stared at him for a moment, but eventually obeyed. “Oh look. Cows.” Greg fled from the backseat, just taking enough time to grab a thermos of coffee, and a book.

“You drugged me.”

Sherlock’s hands tightened on the wheel. “No, I didn’t. I tried to, but I failed. So really, you are getting angry over…” He paused, and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, John. Should I call Lestrade back now?” He moved to open his window.

“He’s gone for a reason.” John undid his seatbelt, and reached over to turn the engine off. “You’ve been a complete dick, this entire case.” He slid across the seat. “You yelled at me. You lied to me.” He stroked his hand from where Sherlock had his own resting on the steering wheel, up towards his shoulder. “You locked me in a lab. Made me believe my life was in danger.” His thumb moved in small circles on Sherlock’s long neck. “And worst of all,” Roughly, he pushed Sherlock’s face against the window. His cheek made a small squeaking noise, as it was pushed along the glass. “You made me sleep alone the past two nights.”

Sherlock’s eyes fluttered shut, and his mouth fell open. “John…” With each breath, a small damp cloud formed on the glass. “I’m sorry.”

“I know you are. Now, you’re going to make it up to me.” John hit the button on the underside of his seat, pushing it back as far as it would go. Lifting his hips, he opened his jeans, wiggling them down just far enough to pull his half hard cock out. Finally, he let go of his partner’s face. “Put that smart mouth to work.”

“Hnnfft.” Sherlock squirmed around until he was kneeling on his seat. He bent nearly double, with his arse pressed against the door, to bury his face in John’s lap. “I’m sorry.” He kissed the tip, tenderly. “It won’t happen again.” He flicked his tongue under the foreskin. “I’ll be better.” He grazed his teeth down the thick ridge underneath. “I want to be better for you,” He rubbed his cheek on the satin-on-stone soft skin.  _“Captain.”_  He lunged, open-mouthed, taking John in until he felt him nudge the back of his throat.

John’s hand went immediately into Sherlock’s curls, while the other reached back to grip his seat. “Fuck, yes. Relax for me.” He held Sherlock still, bucking up into his mouth.

Sherlock Holmes was built to suck cock.

His full, pouting, impossibly heart shaped lips looked perfect, wrapped around thick flesh. The first time John had seen him stick a torch in his mouth to investigate something, they had ended up destroying evidence by rolling on it.

His sharp, cat-like cheekbones emphasised the way his cheeks would hollow on each pull. John had once watched Sherlock eat an ice lolly. It had melted by the time he let him up of the kitchen table.

His long, pale throat could relax and swallow around the head of a twitching erection. John’s brain usually shut off at this point, but there was still a snippet of memories involving a scarf, a cat collar, and a small bell. To this day, the sound of tinkling chimes makes his breath catch.

“Perfect, love. You’re so bloody perfect.” Through it all, John kept watch. Even after he stopped thrusting, and let Sherlock do the work, his buttocks continued to flex. With each roll of his muscles, he pressed up into Sherlock’s mouth.

Coughing, Sherlock pulled off and away. A line of saliva went from his tongue to the head of John’s prick. “I’m sorry,” he gasped, looking up at John with his pale blue puppy eyes. He pitched his voice just the tiniest bit higher. “Don’t be angry, I needed to catch my breath.” The illusion would have been more effective if there wasn’t a wicked smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Can I try again, or did I ruin it?” He lowered his chin, looking up at John through the thick fall of his curls, before moving back down.

Wrapping his lips around just the very tip, Sherlock hummed softly, pressed his tongue to the gaping slit, and  _sipped._

John thrashed, pushing back up in his mouth. He felt a pulse of pre-come leak out, making Sherlock’s tongue even more slick. “God dammit, Sherlock! Behave!” He sank lower down on his seat, stretching out his legs. His left foot caught the steering wheel, setting off the horn.

Sherlock giggled. With his mouth still full. It sent tremors down John’s leg. “Nnn. N-no more playing.” John slurred.

Burying one hand deeper into the detective’s curls, John moved the other down between his legs. “Still mad at you.” He huffed out, guiding Sherlock down on him. “Fucking furious.” A bit desperately, he rolled his snugged up bollocks in his hand. “When we get back to London, I’m going to take it out on your arse.” At Sherlock’s pleased little whimper, John’s head slammed back on the seat. He slipped his hand lower, massaging the spot just behind his sac. His thumb pressed and rubbed in circles. “You’ll be begging me, Sherlock. Wanting me to bend you over. Begging for what I would’ve given you last night.”

Digging his nails into Sherlock’s scalp, he gasped out a warning. “Love, ‘s happening. Get ready. N-now!” His eyes snapped wide, and he cried out as he started to come. It rolled through him with agonizing slowness, until he was finally spurting into Sherlock’s mouth. He tried to keep still, but he still bucked a few times. “Jesus… Oh, Christ, Sherlock, your fucking  _mouth!”_

Sherlock pulled back, swiping his hand over his lips and chin. He turned to open the door.

“No,” John’s foot hooked onto the handle, pulling it shut again. He sat up, tucking himself gently back into his pants and jeans. “Swallow it. Show me your empty mouth.”

With an annoyed grimace, Sherlock swallowed. He continued to gulp, to get the slimy feeling out of his mouth and throat. He opened his mouth, and stuck out his tongue, lifting it to show he had obeyed.

“Mm, perfect.” John drew him in for a deep kiss, tasting himself on his partner’s lips. “You’re forgiven.” He handed the keys back, and cuddled up close to his side. “It’ll be your turn when we get back to London. So, better hurry.”

They made it fifteen miles, before either remembered about the detective inspector.


End file.
